The beginning : Matt's point of view
by Lovely girl 10
Summary: Have you ever wondered what Matt was thinking as he saved Wendy from his mom? Starts from the beginning of Switched.


Trylle Trilogy: The Beginning, Matt's Point of View

By: Lovely Girl 10

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the books.

If you are a big brother, you would do anything to protect those you love; and the one person I deeply care about is my little sister, Wendy. Maggie, our maid, and I love her with all our hearts, so did my dad, who passed away when Wendy was five and I was twelve. My mother did not care about her and never would. She wanted a boy. I was seven years old when Wendy joined our family. My mom refused to name her and my dad could not think of a name for her, so I took it upon myself to name her. Wendy, the name of the girl I liked on Peter Pan. I loved Wendy very much! Sometimes I do not know why, but I felt as if she belonged to me. She is my sister after all, I played with her and help dress her up and I would give her anything she needed. She was my 'Wendy bird', that is the nickname I gave her whenever she wanted to fly in the air.

Our dad died and for some odd reason I was beginning to grow suspicious about my mom. I feel as if she wanted Wendy out of her life, my life, and the whole family. In addition, she almost got away with it; _**almost**_. For some unexplainable reason, Wendy never liked parties. She liked getting gifts, but she didn't have any friends. The only guests were my mom's friends and their kids, who happen to be greedy little things. Mom planned a princess tea party for Wendy's sixth birthday party, which she didn't want. I was around 13 years old at the time. Maggie and I spent all morning decorating the place. I was not around with the guests when Wendy opened up her presents; I was upstairs in my room doing homework that needed to be done. I could hear the screaming, which mostly was from Wendy. She has had tantrums ever since she was little. Then I heard my mom slap her in the face and say, "You are not my daughter!" It was around 3:00 p.m. and I had a gut feeling that I needed to check on Wendy, so I decided that my History homework could wait for a moment. As I came down the stairs, I heard mom's voice in the kitchen, "What kind of child are you, Wendy?" That caught me off guard. What is she talking about? "You're certainly not my child. What are you, Wendy?" Being curious and feeling protective, I stopped at the door that leads to the kitchen. My mom continued, "I was pregnant, Wendy! But you're not the child I gave birth to! Where is my child? You probably killed him, didn't you?" Now what in the world was she talking about? I know that she wanted a boy, but this is ridiculous! I pushed the door a crack and saw her lunge at Wendy and I immediately got myself to push the rest of the door open. However, that was not just it, my mother had a huge butcher knife and it was pointing right at my baby sister!

"Mom!" I yelled, hoping that I could knock some sense into her, but she instead raised the knife. I lunged toward my mom but not before the blade tore through Wendy's dress and it slashed her across the stomach. The blood stained her clothes and Wendy began to cry. I turned my attention toward my mother. "Mom! Let go of that knife!" I demanded. She looked as if she would not let it go. She tried to attack Wendy again, but I went to shield my baby sister from her. I tried to take the knife away but she was fighting to get it back. "I said let go Mom!" I repeated. "She killed your brother Mathew!" My mom said, her frantic eyes were trying to make me believe her, "She's a monster! She has to be stopped!" "What's going on here?" Maggie yelled as she burst through the door, "Matt, take Wendy to your room. I'll deal with this." I turned around and carried Wendy out of my mother's reach.

I found the First Aid kit and placed Wendy on my bed. The cut managed to make a mess of her dress, so I threw it away and replaced it with one of my shirts. I started with a rag soaked in the water and slowly began to wash off the blood. Wendy tried to control her sobbing as she spoke to me, "Mommy hates me!" she whimpered, "I didn't do anything wrong. Why does she hate me?" I honestly had no idea, how can I answer something that I do not even know in the first place? "You did nothing wrong Wendy," I said as I started getting the bandage ready, "You never did anything wrong." Wendy shuddered as I placed the bandage on. "It hurts," she stuttered. I patted her head and got her into my shirt. "It's okay Wendy. I am here. Mom will not bother you again. Please rest." I kissed her cheek and got her under the covers so she could nap. I wiped away the rest of her tears as she began to doze off.

Maggie managed to get the guests out of the house. The party was over. She called the police, telling them that my mom had lost her mind and that she needed to go to a mental hospital. The next few minutes went by and the cops came to take mom away. She was still ranting, "She killed my son! She killed Mathew's brother!" My mom tried to get away but they had a good grip on her, "She should have died a long time ago! She should have never taken my Michael away from me!" "Now Kim, Matt is your _only _son. You never had another child, just Matt and Wendy. "Maggie told her calmly. Mom was still ranting about how she had a boy, that she thought Wendy killed him, and that she was a monster. I watched from my room as they took her away, _far_ away.

As I finished my homework, I could not help but see Wendy snuggling with my pillow. I went over to her and began to tickle her arm. "Wendy, no matter what mom says or does, she won't make me stop caring about you. She is the one with the problem, not you. I promise to protect you. Always." I whispered to her. Goodness was she cute in my bed. I kissed her forehead and left my room, leaving the door open. I decided to go downstairs and clean up the living room, Maggie was cleaning the kitchen. I thought to myself that I **would **protect my baby sister, even if I had to face my mother for it.


End file.
